


The Station

by Inked_Stars



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:16:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inked_Stars/pseuds/Inked_Stars
Summary: My take on Tommy's death.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 75
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	The Station

Tommy backed up against the wall, even as the shards of obsidian dug into his back, he pressed back further, feeling them dig into his back, beginning to draw blood as he tried to escape the looming shadow over him.

Dream advances towards him, silhouetted against the cascading lava. It glows a bright, searing orange, the heat flowing through the room, trapping him in the small obsidian box with Dream. It feels faintly reminiscent of that time when Dream killed him. His first death.

He remembers the way the pain shot through him, barely enough time to process what happened before he was shooting up in bed, tears gathering in corners of his eyes, his breathing ragged.

His breathing was just as ragged, pressed up against the obsidian wall of the cell he wasn’t meant to be trapped in. He tries to reason with Dream, but he either doesn’t hear him, or doesn’t care.

The mask remains unmoving, the smile staying plastered over the white porcelain as Dream’s fist connects with the side of his face. He knocks into the wall behind him, spikes of hot white pain shooting across his skull.

His vision blacks out for a moment, eyes reopening when he’s on the floor, cheek pressed against the hot obsidian. His head feels warm, it feels airy and light. He squints up at Dream, watching the man above him. He watches as he lifts a foot, bringing it down on Tommy with a sickening crunch.

He gasps for breath, the air sticking in his throat as he tries to pull in a lungful of air. His breaths turn to wheezing gasps, his chest weakly fluttering as Dream kicks the side of his head. He feels a warm, sticky mess begin to run down the side of his face. One of his eyes is swollen shut from an earlier punch.

Dream crouches down beside him, “You don’t believe in my revival book? Because Schlatt’s still dead?” He can see the way Dream smirks; his mask pushed up just enough to see his lips.

“I suggest you go visit him then,” Dream’s fist swings towards his face, hitting him in the middle of his forehead.

Tommy watches, numb as Dream stands from beside him, making his way back over to the cat. He watches as Dream bends down, picking it up and cradling it as if it were still alive.

His vision begins to fade, the darkness at the corners closing in. He blinks once, his movements sluggish. He tries to push himself up, but he can’t find the strength to move a finger. The pain in his head begins to recede, the small sparks of agony dissolving away, fizzling out.

He closes his eyes, glad for the relief it brings him.

…

Sam hears Dream’s slightly crazed laughter before he even gets close to the lava. The lack of another voice begins to open a pit in his stomach. He turns to the lever that lowers the lava, flicking it and watching as it slowly moves away.

Dream is stood right at the entrance of his cell, holding the limp body of Tommy’s cat in his arms. He doesn’t see the cat’s owner anywhere.

He brings the wall between Dream and the lava up, stepping onto the platform, wanting to check on Tommy and remove the dead cat from the cell. It wouldn’t be good to leave it there.

The pit in his stomach grows steadily as he moves closer and closer. Normally, Dream would be right at the bars, at least trying to look like he’s escaping. This time he’s stood back from them, watching Sam from underneath his mask, a satisfied grin stretching across his face.

Sam steps into the cell, freezing in horror at what he sees in front of him.

Tommy is sprawled out on the floor, blood slowly seeping from a large gash on the side of his head. His chest isn’t moving. He looks pale, his skin contrasting with the dark obsidian around him.

There’s a smiley face drawn on the wall above Tommy’s head, it drips red, the teen’s blood slowly making its way down from the wall, most of it already dried in the cruel mockery of Dream’s mask.

He turns back to Dream, “Give me the cat, Dream.” His voice is cold, his eyes hard.

Dream hands the cat over without complaint. The clock on the wall behind him is already gone, burned in the lava presumably.

He holds the cat carefully, stroking over its fur carefully. He turns to Tommy, crouching down beside him slowly. He lifts one of the teen’s arms up, wanting to cry at how lifeless the boy was, how drained the boy he had come to love as his own son looked. He pulled him up as he would any other day, cradling him carefully in his arms.

A single tear slides down his cheek, dripping off of his chin and onto Tommy’s limp form.

He turns away from Dream silently. 

He goes back across the lava in a similar silence, leaving Dream alone behind him.

…

Tommy blinked his eyes open slowly, looking around slowly before getting up.

How did he get here?

The place looks too nice to be anywhere on the server. There were no creeper holes, no torn down or abandoned buildings. There was nothing, just an endless field of alliums. Their purple heads bob in an invisible breeze.

He likes alliums, he always has. He still remembers Ranboo’s first interaction with him, the way the enderman had hesitantly handed over a single purple flower, his hands shaking slightly as he pulled away from it.

Tommy had treasured that flower, holding it close until he could keep it safe, tucking it away in a chest, preserving it forever. 

He plucks one of the alliums around him, holding it close to his chest, looking around as he does so.

He begins to walk in a random direction, moving in a straight line.

…

Ranboo stood beside Tubbo, watching as Sam emerged from the prison. They had both wanted to greet Tommy when he emerged. Ranboo straightened up, waiting for Tommy to bound out of the nether portal after Sam.

There’s nothing. The portal doesn’t even begin to glow, no indication of anyone coming through. Ranboo looks to Sam, noticing the way the creeper hybrid is avoiding eye contact. He sees a tear slide down the other’s cheek.

He feels his stomach grow cold, his heart slowing as he watches Sam.

Sam looks up, his eyes slightly red around the edges, “I couldn’t do anything,” his voice is quiet, broken, “I couldn’t do anything to help him, and now he’s gone.”

“He’s gone? What do you mean?” Ranboo knows exactly what he means, he had known as soon as Sam stepped from the portal alone.

“He’s dead Ranboo. I failed him.” Sam turns away from them, ignoring their protests and heading back to the portal.

He looks back to them, one hand resting on the obsidian frame.

“I think I made my first mistake as warden today,” He steps through the portal, locking it and preventing them from coming through.

Tubbo turns to him with a laugh, “God, I didn’t know Sam was so good at acting. Tommy’s not actually dead, it’s impossible.” His grin falters just for a second, eyes flicking down.

“I don’t think that was acting Tubbo.” Ranboo feels a few tears slide down his cheeks, burning his skin as they travel.

“Tommy can’t be dead, he won’t be! Tommy doesn’t do anything quietly, I doubt his death would be any different.” Tubbo turns away from him, set in his opinion.

Ranboo just sighs silently. He can do enough grieving for both of them.

“I think you should go back to Snowchester for the night, Tubbo.”

Tubbo falters slightly before nodding, pulling his trident free and making his way over to the nearest body of the water.

Ranboo watches him go, crumpling in on himself after Tubbo’s disappeared from view. He sobs into his arms, ignoring the way his flesh burns and sizzles.

…

Tommy has come to the end of the flower field, a few alliums clutched in his grasp.

A large building is stood in front of him, the concrete stretching far above him, high into the clouds.

He steps into the buildings, walking around the slightly familiar hallways, through the different train stations, ignoring the weird names, following where his gut takes him.

He sits down on a bench, watching the train tracks, swinging his legs absentmindedly as he waits for his train.

Other dark and shapeless forms move around him, all heading towards their platforms.

He sits and waits patiently.

…

Jack watches his house burn around him, relishing in the flames as they lick over his skin. 

His house crumbles to ash within the next minute.

He stands and watches it fall.

He doesn’t know how to feel. He feels as though he should be happy, Tommy was dead, that’s what he had been working towards.

But he grieved, a small part, a part buried deep inside of him, the part he gave a gravestone when Tommy took one of his lives. He didn’t cry. He watched his house burn, watched it through his tinted glasses.

He pulls them off, seeing the world clearly in what feels like years.

He may have wanted Tommy dead, he may have thought he did, but he didn’t really. They had been friends first, children, trying to have fun, trying to start their own thing.

He doesn’t know when he came to resent him, but he knows that the wars hardened them all. Tommy hadn’t deserved what he got. He had done all he could to amend his mistakes. 

It wasn’t enough for Jack until he was no longer there to accept his forgiveness. He doesn’t know what to do. He no longer has a house.

He turns towards the hotel, looking towards the structure he had felt so pleased over stealing less than a week ago.

He trudges towards it.

…

His train pulls to a stop, its breaks screeching as they grind against the metal.

The doors open with a small hiss, no passengers getting off, just more people flooding on.

He shivers as someone passes through him, their barely corporeal form brushing him aside as if he were nothing but a speck of dust.

He takes a seat, huddling between two ghostly figures. 

He keeps his gaze focused downwards, not wanting to allow the reality of his situation to sink in.

He clutches the alliums against his chest, their soft purple keeping him grounded, allowing him to think of the friendships he had. The ones that he had been ripped away from.

He shudders, curling in on himself as tears begin to slip from his eyes.

…

Quackity takes a step back when Jack tells him, unbelieving of the whole thing. He shakes his wings out behind him.

He didn’t think that Tommy was able to die, the teen pulling himself out of several tight scrapes, making him seem near immortal.

He supposes everyone must die at one point or another, but he’s sure this is too soon.

You shouldn’t be allowed to die a child.

He couldn’t let this affect business.

…

The train pulled to another stop, this one pulling at Tommy’s attention. He looks up, seeing a small village beyond him.

He stands from his seat, the only one moving towards the open doorways.

He steps out into the sunshine, holding his alliums close as he looks around.

He walks towards the village, barely hearing the train pull away.

It feels homely. The colours of the sun warm, painting the village in a soft glow.

He can see two figures hunched over a well, one in a blue jumper, the other in a long coat. He walks towards them slowly, hiding his approach until he’s just behind the one in blue.

He turns around, jumping back with a startled shout when he sees Tommy stood there. This causes the other to turn around as well. Instead of the startled shout they just stare at him, their eyes growing darker with sadness. They wear a yellow sweater under their coat.

“Hey Wilbur.” His voice sounds wrecked, even to his own ears.

“Tommy,” he can hear the pain in Wilbur’s voice.

He opens his arms for a hug, allowing his younger brother to crash into him. he wraps his arms around Wilbur, holding him close as he sobs. His hands tighten in the back of his coat, holding Wilbur close, because he’s here, he can touch him instead of just phasing through.

He receives the comfort he craved whilst exiled.

…

Ranboo stands outside of Tommy’s house, screaming at the world for everyone to hear. Telling everyone exactly what he thought of them. What he though of them for using a child as a scapegoat for all of their problems.

He tosses the allium down on Tommy’s doorstep.

“This will stay here now,” a tear slides down his cheek, “because there is no longer anyone here to pick it up. You killed that person, and he isn’t coming back.”

He turns on his heel and walks away.

…

Tubbo stand in front of Tommy’s grave, staring at the carved words.

Ranboo places a comforting hand on his shoulder, allowing the shorter to lean into him.

“He promised we would make it to eighteen. He said that nothing would happen to us before we turn eighteen.”

Ranboo’s chest tightens at the obvious grief in his voice.

“I don’t think I’m going to make it to eighteen anymore, Ranboo.” He says it with such defeat in his tone, and Ranboo can’t help but agree.

…

Faraway, a ghost sits in a field of alliums, watching as they bob their heads to an invisible breeze.

He no longer remembers why he likes them.

He doesn’t know how he got here.


End file.
